Do or Die
by A Wanderer in the Snow
Summary: A missing team of Throne Agents. An uprising in the Rubezahl worlds. It calls for an Imperial response, but a protracted siege is not what the Lord General wants. Vrackenberg Hive must fall and Colonel Atreus of the Tantalid Primigenia, a forgotten backwater regiment, has a drastic solution. But is the uprising all it seems to be?
1. Vandamier

Vandamier

* * *

The mechanisms in the door to the Administratum Offices whirred as it slid aside to admit the bulky figure of a man dressed in the fatigues of a Colonel. What worried the clerk though, was the man at his heels, the look on that man's face and, most specifically, the way his hand seem to be creeping along his belt of it's own accord to what looked suspiciously like the handle of a leathern whip. The clerk swallowed nervously and blinked a few times.

The pair stopped in front of his desk and the Colonel smiled. It was the sort of polite smile that suggested the following conversation could go one of two ways and that he really wouldn't want to find out what the second way was. Presumably it would involve the grim-faced Commissar at his shoulder and the presently coiled whip.

The clerk swallowed nervously again and tried not to stammer, 'H-How can I help you, Colonel, Commissar?'

As if he didn't know. Some idiot back wherever this Colonel and his unsmiling Commissar had come from had managed to fill-in or file his reports wrong and, somehow, this Colonel's unit had been declared wiped-out to the last man on Hiromen. Yesterday, the Colonel had very politely informed him that this wasn't the case. He had also pointed this out the day before, and the day before that. In fact, he had been regularly coming into the Administratum Offices for nearly a week and a half. Today was the first time that the Commissar had appeared alongside him and his narrowed eyes and twitching fingers were scaring the clerk as much as the man's fixed stare and utterly mirthless face.

The Colonel's smile was as fixed as his Commissar's stare, 'I was going to _politely_ enquire as to whether a resolution has been achieved in which my men, waiting _patiently_ in their barracks, have been declared not to be the lifeless corpses you would pretend them to be. However, I can guess from the somewhat concerned expression on your face, that that is unlikely to be the case. So I would like to introduce you to another paradoxical member of the Tantalid Primigenia, my Commissar.'

The Colonel paused and allowed the clerk to get a good look at the Commissar, in case he hadn't noticed him. It was just as well, because now the clerk could see the Commissar's other hand. It was resting on the reinforced grip of a shock maul. The Commissar's gloved index finger was gently tapping the grip about an inch away from the activation button.

'The Commissar here,' the Colonel continued genially, 'is a man interested in duty and its dereliction. You see, because the unit has been declared dead, the Commissar' who was now staring fixedly at a point somewhere just beyond the clerk's left ear, 'feels that someone, somewhere has failed in his, or her, duty. In short, he is _concerned_.'

The most worrying thing, to the clerk at least, was the friendliness in the Colonel's voice and that horrible fixed smile. He tried not to look back at the Commissar and muttered something that might have been an acknowledgement.

'In his concern the Commissar thought it best to… tag along, just to make sure that the Administratum isn't preventing my men from performing their duty. As I'm sure you understand,' the Colonel's smile broadened for a moment, 'Now, I'd advise you to pass this message along to your seniors; if the Primigenia are not reinstated for combat duty by tomorrow, the Commissar here is going to launch a full misconduct investigation, starting here, at this desk. Do you _understand_?'

The clerk nodded anxiously and swore to himself that he would far too ill to work tomorrow, he didn't care if Supervisor Udurg docked his pay, he wasn't going to be here when that Commissar came marching through the door again. He understood what Commissars did and this one didn't even seem to be carrying a pistol for summary executions, from the look on the man's face he'd be quite happy powering up that shock maul instead.

'Y-yes, Colonel. I'll pass it along, Sir.'

The Colonel nodded and both men turned and left. The clerk sank back into his chair, sweating.

* * *

'You do realise, Colonel, that I cannot simply march in there and demand a full misconduct investigation.'

Colonel Atreus and Commissar Gavelen were making their way back towards what Atreus generously referred to as the regimental barracks but was, in reality, a disused warehouse. The situation was far more dire than he let the snivelling Administratum clerk know. Having been declared dead, the Tantalid no longer existed in Imperial records and, therefore, were unable to requisition housing, vehicles, ammunition or even food supplies. For the last week and a half they had been living off the remaining ration packages from the Barrat Campaign and they were getting worryingly low.

Atreus removed his cap and wiped sweat from his brow, what he wouldn't give for even the slightest breeze in the air. At another time Vandamier would have been one of the best staging posts to be assigned to, with its blue skies, warmth and sparkling fountains that broke up the city-scape into shady parks and broad boulevards. Instead he was stuck in a disused warehouse that was all they had been able to find, sleeping in survival sacks stale from over-use and eating leftover rat-packs from the battlefields of Hiromen. They could very well find themselves starving to death before the Administratum realised their error and wouldn't that be ironic; a dead regiment starving to death for the crime of being alive. Casualties of a war already over.

'I know, I know,' he answered, 'but the threat of it might just get them off their arses and doing something useful.'

Commissar Gavelen nodded and they walked on, 'Still, you make a point, Colonel. I shall prepare a troop detail for the morning.'

Colonel Atreus smiled suddenly and said, 'You could always take Swythe along.'

Colonel Gavelen glanced at him, 'I thought you wanted to feed the men, not start a war?'

* * *

A man enjoying the sunshine from the comfort of an ornamental bench beside a fountain watched them pass. He had made it his job to review the regiments currently stationed on Vandamier and knew all of their signs and symbols but, strangely, he did not recognised the wyvern emblem on the shoulders of either of those men. He frowned and cleared his throat out of habit.

How curious.

He whistled for his aide who had chosen to lurk in the shade instead of enjoy the sunlight. The lad came rushing across, blinking furiously as his eyes tried to adjust.

'Those men,' the man said, gesturing at the pair, 'find which regiment they belong to.'

'Yes, sir,' the lad said and turned to hurry after them.

'Wait!' the man called, frowning, 'Do it discretely.'

'Oh,' the youth said, halting in his tracks, 'Yes, sir.'

The youth moved forward again, then stopped again, 'Now, sir?'

The man eyed him with only a touch of disbelief, 'Why, yes, Remmond, now.'

The youth darted after the pair as they rounded a corner, only slowing once he had them in sight once again. The man sat back against he bench and leant his head back so that the sun fell full upon his smooth face, reflective glare-lenses hiding his eyes.


	2. The Lord General

The Lord General

* * *

Rubezahl Primaris. Vrackenberg Hive. A jewel of the Imperium, the golden capital of the Rubezahl Worlds.

No longer.

Deceit, treachery, arrogance, possibly even heresy. The list was an unknown. The leaders:an unknown. The supporters: an unknown. No warning, no notice, no alarm. The team of throne agents sent to investigate had been detained by the forces of the new government, or the old, even that wasn't clear. What was known, was that Vrackenberg Hive had declared itself to have thrown off the so-called yoke of Imperial rule and called for all neighbouring hives and right-minded worlds to follow suit against the tyranny of tithes and taxes levied for the distant Throne.

There could be only one response. The rebellion would be put down, swiftly, before other hives could be drawn into the conflict and, Emperor forbid, sub-sector wide anarchy followed. Lord-General Janus Dephilex had voted to approve the response, affirming the assignation of a task force to be led by some youthful or lesser General who had yet to prove themselves. Of course, Dephilex had put his name forward to lead the response, it was the politic thing to do, every General, Lord or otherwise in the sector not previously engaged had put their names forward. The task should have fallen to one of them, while he led the Imperial push to recover a series of worlds that had broken contact, the last reports suggesting Dark Eldar predations.

But for Canavius, _damn his eyes_ , and his sycophants. They had gathered enough votes to ensure Dephilex was packed off to regain control of this filthy little rebellion against the Throne.

His only consolation was that it must have cost Canavius a fortune, not only in credits but mostly in favours. If only Vrackenberg would fall quickly and be folded back into Imperial custody, he might just be able to sweep back, borne on the tide of swift victory and exploit the gamble Canavius had so drastically made.

The reports though, they suggested Vrackenberg was a fortress and it would not fall or fold quickly, suddenly, quietly or any of the other adjectives Dephilex wanted to be able to associate with it. In fact, with the forces placed under his command; those currently at the staging post on Vandamier, his advisors had suggested the siege could take months, if not years. It looked as though Canavius' had done his research before he committed himself.

Lord-General Dephilex picked up the next data-slate, expecting to read yet another miserable summary of the expected defences and armaments the enemy would have, along with the projection of the umbrella shield holding up against everything but an orbital bombardment, which was out of the question anyway. He was disappointed.

An eyebrow rose.

A hand reached for another data-slate and he perused it, looking for a name. It wasn't there. He double-checked and scratched his nose.

He turned back to the first slate and continued to read. A corner of his mouth curled upwards.

His eyes skimmed over the words 'surgical strike', 'matter of weeks' and 'Tantalid Primigenia'.

He reached out and opened the vix-link to his aide's office, 'Get me Advisor Van de Flete, his report warrants an explanation.'

* * *

Tantalus.

A relatively young planet towards the North-West rim of the galaxy, an out-world, still prone to massive tectonic movement across the southern hemisphere. Indeed, beyond the largest, most stable continent, it was barely considered habitable. But, millennia ago a few hardy souls had colonised what they could and their descendants had gratefully rejoined the Imperial brethren.

It was a planet pockmarked and scarred by sheer mountain ridges and yawning, cavernous sinkholes, between which the inhabitants either scratched out a living mining the depths or hunting the vicious predators of the Daggerpeaks, the scattered geyr-wyrm species, whose skin was sold as a luxury material on worlds across that sector. These two primary industries had created an unusual divide in the populace; those who plumbed the depths had become naturally pale-skinned and tended more to squatness than the long-limbed mountaineers with their sun-burnished skin.

The Lord-General's eyes flickered over the data-slate, automatically summarising the contents as he read.

The planet had achieved its first Founding in recent years it seemed, the population only having just grown large enough to support an Imperial Regiment. The data-slate described them as light advance infantry.

The combat history registered a series of successful assaults during the Barrat Reclamation, before Hiromen when the front they were pushing abruptly collapsed and they were wiped out to man defending a tactically important geological feature. The Lord-General looked up at the slim man across the desk from him, raised an enquiring eyebrow and said dryly, 'You presume to assault a Hive with regiment of dead men, Bagnale. I'm sure they will not expect _that_.'

Bagnale Van de Flete allowed himself a thin smile, which only served to make him look as though he wasn't entirely sure what the expression was supposed to convey, but he allowed it all the same, 'You've reached the combat record, Lord-General?'

'Would you care to explain?' Dephilex replied.

Van de Flete pursed his lips, a movement that came far more naturally to his face, 'Mmm, it would seem that a minor clerical error was made on Hiromen. The regiment was registered as being ordered to the front alongside the Varrisian 7th, however, the front collapsed while the Tantalid were still en route. Of course, the Varrisians _were_ wiped out to the last man and recorded as such, but as the order had been given, it was assumed that the Tantalids were involved in the same engagement and thus, also lost.'

'They were black-holed,' Dephelix interrupted.

'Ahem, in a manner of speaking, yes, Sir. Despite the fact that the entire regiment was shipped off-world to Vandamier, to here, where they have become wedged in a deadlock between the good Colonel and his staff trying to requisition food supplies for the troops and the Administratum telling them to their faces that they are dead men and, therefore, do not need to eat. In the words of Colonel… Atreus, I believe he is called, they may have survived the battlefield but it's the peace that will kill them,' he harrumphed and allowed himself to look slightly amused for a moment before he pursed his lips and continued, 'Currently, I believe the Colonel is preparing to do something irreparable to the Administratum Office.'

The Lord-General smiled and muttered, 'A man after mine own heart,' he got to his feet, 'But you think this Atreus and his boys may be able to get us into Vrackenberg in short order?'

'Mmm, yes, Sir.'

'Very well then,' he crossed to an ammo crate resting on a table at the rear of the room, opening it to reveal several neatly stacked bottles of amasec. He took one and poured out two glasses, 'we had best get them re-introduced to the active register. Then you can tell me about this plan of yours.'

* * *

The trucks began pulling up outside the warehouse without warning, big six-wheeled, canvas-backed affairs, military-style, no doubt. The sentries glanced at each other and watched as a man in light blue fatigues approached.

'Best get the Colonel, I'm thinking,' Wenzel said.

Whyt shouldered his gun and slipped through the main door, disappearing inside.

The blue man sidled up and said, 'I need to speak to Colonel Atreus. Message from the Lord-General.'

'He's on his way.' Wenzel told him, gazing both at the man and the trucks suspiciously.

They waited in silence, the blue man looking him up and down, noting the wrinkles in Wenzel's fatigues, the unshaven quality of his face, the scratches that hadn't quite been polished out in the metal of the lasgun he was bearing. It seemed like an age and Wenzel was beginning to get fed up with the way the man was looking at him. He was just about to say something regrettable, when the main door screeched and swung open, Colonel Atreus, Commissar Gavelen and Major Ventran appeared.

 _About bloody time_ , Wenzel thought.

'Message from the Lord-General, Sir,' the blue man said and saluted smartly, before handing over a message wafer.

Atreus broke it open and read it, 'Commissar, Major,' he said, 'It seems our prayers have been answered. Get the boys and girls loaded, we've been re-assigned.'


	3. Vrackenberg Hive

Vrackenberg Hive

* * *

The problem wasn't so much the people of Vrackenberg Hive, as much as it was the Hive itself. The simple solution would be to have an Inquisitor declare Exterminatus minorus on the hive and raze it via orbital bombardment to a smoking ruin. Of course, the simple solution wasn't available.

In the early days of the colonial era of the Rubezahl worlds, Vrackenberg had been a bustling starport at the base of the mountains. Thanks to the vast agri-plains that stretched out in front of the it, the rail pass that snaked through the mountains behind and, of course, the starport itself, there was nothing left of the original merchant market-town. Instead there rose the great hive metropolis, twisting upwards and taking root in the rock of the Vrackenspire mountain itself, challenging its height with metal and rockcrete structures of its own. The markets had been replaced by mighty factoria, auction halls and commerce centres, the starport cleared to make room for multi-tiered hangars, a hundred flight decks and vast loading bays. Only the station had remained in the same place, simply growing to accommodate extra terminals and railheads, but it to was now a multi-level structure with separate commerce, military and civilian levels.

The once bustling merchant town was long vanished, the great gargoyle of the hive stood in its place, leaning against the mountain for support.

Even so, a hive was a hive, shear force could crack it open and reveal the treachery within. But this hive had been built at the edge of Imperial space, vulnerable to attack by Xenos forces and the architects had known it. It had its defensive walls, gun emplacements, fall-back positions and deep bunkers, all of which were built into the very fabric of the city itself. That was to mention nothing of the satellite installations that were spread throughout the flanking foothills and mountains and dug in like blood-worms on the back of a grox.

Even the very summit of the Vrackenspire mountain had been conquered and tamed to the defence of the Hive, becoming a fortified comm station, complete with firing positions and macro cannon that would cause avalanches in the valleys below when fired.

The problem was that Vrackenberg had been built to resist exactly the kind of attack the Lord-General wanted; a short siege and a quick solution. Those wily Imperial architects had done their job and done it well; if an enemy attacked in force, the Hive would be able to resist long enough for an Imperial relief force to arrive.

But orbital bombardment was out of the question, yes it would raze the city, but that would destroy the economy of the local system and maybe destabilise the entire sub-sector, which could cause an even greater level of unrest than there was currently. Terrestrial bombardment would have its own problems, a massive shield pylon had been built into the heart of the hive and the mountain, large enough to withstand even the heaviest bombardment the Imperial forces would be able to muster. And of course those satellite stations would happily return fire whenever the big guns revealed their position.

So Van de Flete had championed Colonel Konin Atreus and his Tantalid Primigenia. They would win Lord-General Dephilex swift victory or they would die trying.

* * *

'What do you think, Major?'

Major Ventran looked at the hololith of Vrackenberg Hive doubtfully, the Lord-General had had them assigned to proper barracks for the two days they had before they embarked and they were making full use of the facilities. 'Just us, Sir?'

Colonel Atreus nodded, these days he had difficulty looking anything other than stern. Maybe it was his permanently, slightly furrowed brow, maybe it was the hard edge to his eyes or maybe it was simply the way he held himself; rigid, parade-ground composed, concealing his thoughts from friend and foe alike. She guessed she came across in a similar way, it was hard to put someone at ease when you were watching them with an unblinking augmetic eye.

'Just us, Elezea,' he confirmed, 'where would you start?'

She brushed a lock of red-streaked blonde hair behind her ear and leant forward, 'It's got to be the Shield. For any assault to be successful, that shield has to be deactivated.'

Konin Atreus nodded his agreement, 'The Shield must fall, the Lord-General's said as much.'

Elezea re-tucked the lock of hair behind her ear where it stubbornly refused to stay, 'So we gain access, or we disable it manually with a tech-priest or explosives,' she shook her head, correcting herself, 'not a priest, we couldn't be sure to get one down there, not without training time we don't have. We get the codes or we blow it.'

Atreus nodded again, 'I was thinking two objectives; primary to recover the codes, secondary to infiltrate the Central Pylon base. Enough well-placed explosives, here,' he pointed to a large cavern close to where the Hive began to fuse with the mountain, 'should knock out the Shield permanently.'

Elezea looked up, 'And alert the entire Hive to our presence,' she pointed out.

He gazed steadily back, 'Which is why it is the secondary objective.'

'And the codes?' she asked, 'How are we supposed to retrieve those? Only the Governor and the Marshall will have those, if they're still alive. Maybe a handful of the Marshall's ranking officers.'

Atreus made a note to retrieve the likely locations and names of those who would have access to the Shield activation codes, 'Right, let's get the officers in, we need routes, options and opinions.'

* * *

Four hours and as many urns of tea later the meeting broke up, thirty-odd men and women had a lot of opinions, some cautious, some blasé, some surprisingly insightful. Men and women like Flasch and Khosrani might know the best way to assault a mountaintop, but in the depths of the Hive they would be like children lost in a ravine maze. That was where Arocar and his Company of deepers would prove their worth, most of whom had been born and raised in the depths of Crucible, Tantalus' largest earth-hive.

Between them, they had hammered out routes and fall-backs, the best and worse scenarios. It might have taken longer than just him and Elezea mulling it through, but it was damn sight better for the troops to know that their leaders had been included in the full scheme. It made the officers more confident in their decision making and he had found it made for a better situation when the las started flying.

Atreus looked over at Commissar Gavelen and his solitary pot of recaff. It made him stand out from the rest as much as the commissariat uniform he wore; almost all Tantalids drank lychtea as their beverage of choice. It was made from dried red lychen that was farmed on Tantalus for that very reason, it had a strong smoky flavour and if you drank too much of it, it started to seep into the colour of your body hair. As evidenced by the dull crimson streaks in Major Riesel's otherwise blonde locks, it was signature of Tantalus she carried with her, a lot of the troopers had similar streaks.

* * *

'-disable the Shield via surrendered codes and disrupt communications with the outlying stations, allowing us to deploy directly into the Hive, or Atreus is forced to destroy the central Shield Pylon and ground forces deploy outside the Hive to commence a bombardment of the walls and outlying areas.'

'Worst case scenario?' the Lord-General asked politely.

'Mmm, the Tantalids are cut to pieces at the landing site and rest of the Hive is forewarned of our advance.'

'And once Atreus has achieved his objectives?'

Van de Flete coughed, 'He will hold a suitable position until a relief force can break through, or he may choose to fight his way out. Either way, he is agreed that the Shield must fall if any campaign is to successful.'

The term, 'acceptable losses' hung in the air like a bad smell, neither man acknowledging it.

The Lord-General nodded once, 'Good, as long as he understands that.'

It wasn't that the Lord-General was a callous man, but the destruction of a single regiment in the achievement of a vital objective was infinitely preferable to the loss that would be incurred across the whole task force over the period of a protracted siege. If it could also help him outwit Canavius, then so be it.


	4. Launch

**Launch**

* * *

High, high above even the mighty Vrackenspire summit, so high that even the distance curve of light indicating sunrise on the other hemisphere of the planet could be seen. It was here that the Tantalids would launch their assault. It was at this height that solar winds collided with the magnetic field of the planet, along the Karman Line, where the atmosphere met space, where auspex returns were confused by the shifting air density and magnetic disruption, that a single cargo shuttle would release First Platoon into the void.

The shuttle would dip into the atmosphere and maintain a hover pattern for precisely fifty seconds, then it would be gone; returning to a lone merchant freighter fleeing ahead of the advancing Imperial blockade. The particular vessel involved, having been caught on the outskirts of the system smuggling contraband drugs, had been seized and repurposed for the deployment of the Tantalid Primigenia.

Whereas the Elysians and Harakoni had high proportions of storm troopers in their ranks, using brute force to overwhelm the objectives they descended upon via grav-chute, lighting up enemy auspex displays like freak meteor showers, the Tantalid preferred a more subtle approach when possible. Not for them were the high-tech grav-chutes and bulky hellguns, instead relying on drag-wings manufactured almost exclusively on Tantalus and skeleton-stocked light-weight Merovech pattern lasguns. Not that the platoon deploying from the shuttle would be carrying lasguns, instead each carried a stripped down, snub-nosed, silenced autopistol.

Twenty-three personnel boarded the shuttle before it exited the freighter's no.2 hangar bay; the pilot, Major Elezea Ventran, and the twenty-one current members of 1st Platoon.

The cargo hold was cramped with twenty-two void-suit clad individuals, if they could be called that. Only Major Ventran was distinguishable by the fact she didn't have a drag-wing harness fastened around her body, the rest were entirely uniform; all small of stature, even with the bulky equipment, all with features hidden by a reinforced helmet, complete with dark-view visor and rebreather mask, all bodies hidden beneath sealed black void suits; inhuman and anonymous. This was 1st Platoon, four five-man squads and a Lieutenant, call-sign Archangel.

'Two minutes to target,' came the pilot's call over the vox.

The shuttle was already shaking with atmospheric disturbance.

Last minute checks consisted of each figure patting down their bodies to ensure their equipment remained in place; climbing spikes, carabiners, two spare clips for the silenced Mk5 Megall autopistol, a coil of spider line, two high energy protein bars, a miniature canteen of water and the regimental kukri, a large combat knife with an inwardly curving blade. The usual flak armour had been stripped away until it only consisted of the regulation thermal-absorbent layers that were deemed essential to help prevent detection.

One by one they signalled kit confirmation to the rest of their squads and rose to shuffle to the rear hatch, carefully avoiding banging the drag-wings against anything. A malfunctioning wing would be a literal death sentence.

An overhead speaker squawked once and the hatch began to open with a rush of decompressing air. As it yawned wide it began to reveal the nightside of Rubezahl Primaris below, the darkness speckled with the lights of distant hives and communities. One of those speckles was Vrackenberg Hive. The rising scream of the engines was barely audible in the high atmosphere as the shuttle strained to hold itself steady, coasting to a halt in what could hardly be described as air.

A red light above the hatchway flickered green and, in silence, the first six figures stepped off the end of the ramp and were snatched away by the gloaming murk.

Ten seconds passed. Five figures walked calmly into the void.

Another ten seconds. Another five figures gone.

Ten seconds. Five falling bodies.

The shuttle stood station for ten further seconds after Major Ventran signalled the all clear, then the hatch closed, the engines screamed almost desperately and it began its return flight to the freighter _Absolom,_ bereft of twenty-one bodies.

* * *

The freezing air rushed past, the only vague sound in a world of distantly blurred lights and immediate darkness, Lieutenant Kasbek's only source of comfort a single green vector line across her helmet interface, describing her rapid descent towards the beacon of light that marked Vrackenberg Hive.

That was fine. As long as she kept the line green, everything would be fine.

Keeping her body rigid, she plummeted through the steadily thickening air and vanished into the night.

* * *

Spiretop Station. Punishment detail if you asked Dask Yoren. Bloody cold, bloody tedious and the company was worse than the average morgue. Even with the diffusion shield and the heat rising up from the hive below, the wind chill brought the outside walkways well below freezing and inside wasn't much better.

Yoren watched his breath steam in front of the cogitator banks. There might be an Imperial Fleet inbound to attempt to prevent the planetary secession, but as far as Yoren was concerned a bit of orbital bombardment might warm the place up a bit. He rubbed his gloved hands together to try and get the blood moving a bit quicker, his eyes roaming over the hololith chart nearby.

Nothing. The Imperial Fleet was still out beyond Nepia, the outermost gas-giant of the system, blockading scavengers and dodgy merchs. They wouldn't be here for weeks. And when they did? Yoren had a good idea of what would happen; the politicos would apologise and make nice with the stern-faced Imperial diplomats. There would sincere regrets and new agreements struck, treaties ratified and someone (definitely not him) would get a nice fat pay-off while he, he would probably get another bloody cold night shift on top of the bloody cold mountain.

He didn't even know who he'd pissed off to get assigned to Spiretop, probably some uptight Oppo who didn't think the polish on his buttons was up to regulatory requirements. That the sort of phrase they loved and he hated, 'Regulatory requirements', what a load of bull. As though a shiny button would stop someone taking a pop at you if they wanted to.

Look on the bright side he told himself, there's only three more hours to go…

* * *

This far into the jump the wind was screaming through the harness loops of the plummeting figures, each trapped in their own helmeted world of darkness, blurred ground lights and the flickering green line that flashed across their visors. The ache was starting; shoulders forced into an unnatural position by the fall, thigh muscles frozen by the night gales, but burning with lactic acid. Hands shook with adrenalin.

The figures dropped further into the darkness.

The green line flashed as the first squad hit their mark.

On cue, the drag-wings opened, snapping into position, dragging swathes of precisely folded geyr-wyrm skin into position. Suddenly the fall was controlled. They shooting forwards into the wind, straining arms bolstered against the drag-wings.

The fall became directed and the squad moved into a long arc that would carry them to very pinnacle of Vrackenberg Hive's weather dispersion shield.

'SHIK! OH GOD-EMPEROR! SHIK!' a panicked voice filled Lieutenant Kasbek's ears, the vox screeching over the winds.

'Report!' she barked into her mic, struggling to hold her flight arc against the gales.

The voice made one more call for help before it descended into incoherent screaming.

'Report!' she yelled again, feeling as though her arms were slowly tearing themselves out of their sockets.

The vox cut out.

She tore through a gust and the green line across her visor wobbled sickeningly for a moment. She tried to gauge where the rest of the squad were, but the chance of spotting any of them was nil. There was just the rising glow of the hive, the flickering green line and abrupt darkness everywhere else.

'Sound off!' she called through her mic.

'One.'

'Two!' came the crackled reply.

'Three.'

There was a pause.

'F-five!' gasped a last voice, 'T- Taria's wing failed.'

Oh, no.

It was a chance all of them took. Back on Tantalus every geyr-wyrm hunter took the risk with every jump. Even with constant oiling and de-icing agents worked into the harness and skin there was a chance. The release mechanism became clogged or the wing itself sheared.

Vitaria had stopped screaming because she couldn't.

At least it would have been quick.

At the speed and height they were travelling at when the wing failed she wouldn't have been terrified for long. She would have hit at close to two hundred miles an hour.

Lieutenant Kasbek whispered a prayer for Taria's soul and said, 'Let's get down safe,' to the remainder of her squad.

They were travelling almost horizontal now, her speed bleeding away rapidly, coming through the lowest point of the arc in towards the weather shield. She tilted the wing and for a few brief seconds she was rising, truly flying through the frozen mountain air. The speed bled away and for a brief moment she hung suspended in the air, wings outstretched like an avenging angel.

Then she tucked, rolled and dropped head-first through the pinnacle of the shield itself, causing a brief burst of phosphorescent light.

Behind and above her the rest of the squad tucked, rolled and followed her down.


	5. Touch Down

**Touch Down**

* * *

Yoren leant back in his seat and put his feet up on the edge of the console, the civ-net channels were reporting a major avalanche to the south that had blocked the over-pass route through the mountains. He yawned and for a moment considered the poor sods on duty outside, at least he hadn't done anything to warrant that… One of the screens pinged a contact way above the station. He sat up and checked it.

Nothing. Then a whole series of pings, right at the top of the shield.

He sat back, the returns were tiny; most likely a flock of avids blown of course by the mountain gales and pushed into the edges of the weather shield, the top-hive's defence against the more ferocious weather it would have otherwise encountered.

He drew a lho-stick and played with it, eyeing the smoke sensor above him and wondering how sensitive it was. After a few minutes he decided it wasn't worth being put outside with the other sentries if he did get caught and tucked it back in his jacket pocket with the others. He sighed and hunched over, eyes glazing with boredom and the cold.

* * *

They came flitting out of the darkness, circling above the station for a few moments, using the updrafts to hold them in the air. Then, in response to an unseen signal, they dropped and struck.

* * *

The first man never saw what hit him. The kukri caught him across the side of the neck as he turned, severing his vocal cords as it slashed through muscle and cartilage. It forced him sideways, off his feet and over the railing of the walkway he was supposed to be patrolling.

One arm twitched instinctively, reaching for the railing, trying to correct his balance but he was already past saving as his upper body pivoted round the metal rail and he plunged into the night. Beneath the walkway he briefly saw dark shapes, clinging to the rock face like giant demonic bats. Then he was gone, falling into the night and the tangle of top-hive comm installations below.

* * *

The floodlights on the landing pad essentially blinded him, Farg had realised an hour before. It was ridiculous that he was expected to perform an essential duty like standing sentry when he couldn't see anything more than a few metres into the darkness because some bureaucrat wanted the landing pad to be always visible. Nothing like giving your position away, eh?

He shook his head as flecks of ice pattered against the rockcrete shelf and the stanchions that supported it. They groaned as if they had a life of their own every few minutes and he half wondered if they weren't about to give way and the whole lot, including him was going to drop off the side of the mountain.

He cursed the lights and the darkness and the cold and wished he been assigned to the inside post. Sodding Yoren, always getting the better deal.

Something flickered out there in the darkness beyond the lights and caught his eye. An avid? A flurry of ice crystals? He lifted up sentinel's lamp and shone it into the darkness but there was nothing there.

The next flurry of ice hit him square in the face and he winced away from it, suddenly very aware of the icy rockcrete beneath his feet as his boots slid a little. He tugged the collar of his greatcoat up higher and hunched into it, wishing time would move quicker. It wasn't like they needed sentries up here; it was a punishment more than anything. The Imperials were at the edge of the system and the skies were auspex-mapped, no one was getting near the Hive without showing up on a dozen scan-charts.

Something thumped in the darkness and made him flinch. He stepped to the edge and peered out into the night. Ice flurried and the wind moaned amongst the rocks. Nothing.

Something huge and black drifted past at the very edge of his vision. He took a startled step back and nearly slipped, cursing the cold and the ice and everyone who wasn't stuck on a mountaintop tonight.

Or had it? It was hard to tell. Was it just another flurry making shapes in the darkness? Now his heart was slowing down again he could see all sorts of shapes coming and going in the flurries around him. Bloody Yoren and stupid stories of lost souls climbing the mountain to try to reach the heavens. It was alright for him, sitting inside, out of the wind…

The wind moaned through the stanchions and he shuddered at the noise. It was creepy out here. A definite, clear shape drifted past at the very edge of the landing pad floodlights.

His hand moved to the comm-link at his shoulder.

Another hand clamped down on his wrist before he could reach it and he turned in alarm, opening his mouth to shout as he desperately pulled at his lasgun.

* * *

The bullet went straight through the sentry's front teeth as he opened his mouth and must have blown out the back of skull, but Lieutenant Kasbek was already turning away as the body fell backwards off the platform, spasming uncontrollably.

She flicked the safety of the autopistol back on and knelt to secure the spider-line that had been fastened about her waist. With the rope secured to the base of one of the bolted in flood-lights she gave it a tug to tell those below that it was secure and turned away to examine the rest of the limited area that made up the landing pad.

There wasn't much to see. A square of icy rockcrete, a set of floodlights bolted either side of a sheltered doorway, the doorway itself, and the walkways leading into the darkness on either side.

Sergeant Turran had already confirmed a kill on the North side of the installation.

She ducked into the shadowed doorway and drew the autopistol again, covering the remaining members of Echan's squad as they pulled themselves up the spider-line and onto the platform.

* * *

The night wind was freezing and her shoulders burned with the effort of using the drag-wing assembly. A drop from the edge of the planet's atmosphere in full breathing gear with only a visor to guide you was a long stretch from throwing yourself off one of the Daggerpeaks back home with your quarry in sight. She would always enjoy the thrill and the rush of falling through the baking air between the peaks, but jumping from the edge of space? That was a different bundle of twigs.

The visor showed one target, stationary, facing - East? She used the updraft to swing around, moving North before she rolled forwards, disengaging her feet from the assembly as she tucked. She completed the roll, emerging with the autopistol from her holster in her left hand and began her landing onto the rock promontory above and behind the sentry.

The wings flared, nearly wrenching her shoulders out of their sockets, but she expected it and accounted for the pain, focusing instead on placing her feet and breaking into a run to compensate for her speed as she touched down. The snap of her arm straps disengaging must have been audible, because the sentry began to turn in alarm, but she was already bringing the autopistol to bear in a tight, two-handed grip.

The gun gave a _phut-phut-phut_ sound as she fired thrice, making sure and the enemy figure toppled sideways before it could bring up the lasgun it was carrying. Another figure swooped in along the line of the walkway, landing more sedately on the grilled metal and checked the body, kukri in hand.

'Clear, Sarge,' came the whisper.

Another figure touched down, somewhat off-balance as a gust caught her at the last moment, but she took hold of the handrail and immediately crouched to begin detaching the drag-wing assembly that stuck out behind her, forcing her into an awkward hunched position.

The last two members of landed without ceremony and they two began disassembling their wings without pause as the others covered them. They were interrupted though by a cry of pain and the sudden clash of metal on metal.

Blask didn't react, keeping her eyes and her gun pointed along the walkway North, the other four, led by Sergeant Mentolat moved South. Rockcrete merged with the true stone of the mountain's peak and the walkway struts had been hammered into both. They moved forward at a half-crouch, turning the corner to find the next squad clustered around two fallen bodies.

* * *

Riyt was down and bleeding, the last sentry was dead, her kukri buried between his clavicle and neck. Wyre was crouched over her, both their helmets on the grating beside them and medi-bundle open at Wyre's waist. Riyt was spitting blood and wincing in pain as Wyre reached down to feel her tibia.

'Bad gust caught her as she came in,' Kay told her fellow Sergeant as Mentolat arrived, 'Leg got caught between the railing and her foot grip. Wyre reckons she's broken it. Just about bit her tongue in half too, by the looks of things.'

Mentolat couldn't see Kay's face through her visor, but she could hear the grin in her voice, 'Still, she got the bastard.'

They moved across the body of the dead sentry and took a look, it was a him. He was in standard HDF uniform under a thick greatcoat with a standard pattern lasgun on a strap around his chest. Riyt had done amazingly well to get her blade in where she had, given the circumstances. Kay rifled through his pockets but didn't find anything significant, not even rank or name, just a packet of common brand lho-sticks and a mechanical sparker.

'The Colonel suggested that there might be signs of-' she began.

The relief in Mentolat's voice was clear as she interrupted Kay, not wanting to even hear the words, 'Thank the Emperor there isn't then!'


	6. Entry

Entry

* * *

Nothing further pinged on the auspex, not so much as a particularly dense ice crystal cloud and Yoren was bored with the reports listing the likely delays on the overpass in the valleys below. He shuddered at the cold seeping slowly through his jacket and leant his chair back, laying his chin on his chest. He didn't bother looking at his chrono, it was longer than he wished to believe until his shift was over. He considered taking a turn at patrolling the walkways outside, just for something to do. But the door to the landing pad only opened from the inside and he didn't trust one of the others to lock him out and take his place inside where it was relatively warmer.

There was a reason they all been assigned to Spiretop and it was mostly because they didn't respond well to authority. That didn't say much for his chances of being let back in after he ventured out. No, he would stay where he was and make the best of it. He reached out and twisted the knob on the civ-net link, turning the crackling reports down a couple of notches. Then he shoved his chilled hands up into armpits and hunched down again, let his eyes close a little but so that he could still keep an eye on the auspex returns screen.

* * *

With the sentries dealt with, 1st Platoon was free to move around the outside of Spiretop Station uninhibited. Turran and her squad were already abseiling down the east side of the mountaintop using the spider-lines they had carried in, heading for the top-hive and the comms installations there. Their task was secondary to the overall objective, but if things began to get out of control they would be in position to begin disrupting the hive comms networks and broadcasts. If Lieutenant Kasbek failed to gain entry to Spiretop, then it would be up to them to find a way inside.

It would be hours before Turran's squad would reach their objective though, even with dark-view visors the route down would be icy and frozen, and any mistake likely to be fatal. They had to move with caution if they had any chance of reaching their target.

Lieutenant Kasbek, on the other hand, was surveying the single doorway from the landing pad to the interior of Spiretop Station. There didn't seem to be any way of opening it from the outside without a cutter of some description and a ripbar. The nearest thing they had available would have been a meltagun, but even those were in stationary orbit on the _Absolom_ with the rest of the regiment. There was no way 1st Platoon would have been able to bring one down on the drag-wings. They would have to find another way.

Thankfully the Colonel Atreus had planned for this. Lieutenant Kasbek had been there when the Spiretop Station protocols were brought in by a nervous Administratum clerk. Thank the Emperor for small mercies. They even had the standard shift changes, unless the secessionists had altered them.

Kasbek knew the door was ten inches thick, but she also knew that there were no pict-recorders on the outside of the Spiretop, the cold, wind and moisture had long ruined any attempt to replace human sentries. It was still a gamble though, either she gained access when the shift ended and the inside sentry opened the door, or they played it by ear and tricked him into opening it.

Her visor told her she had five minutes until the shift ended, she assembled her squads.

* * *

 _Bang. BANG. Bang._

Yoren jerked awake, nearly losing his balance and going over backwards on his chair, but he managed to hook his feet under the console and pull himself forwards. He blinked and scrubbed at his eyes, noticing the time on the console.

 _BANG. BANG._

There was more than two hours until shift's end, but someone was banging on the airpad door. It was probably Farg, miserable and fed-up with the cold, and wanting to get out of the wind.

He lifted the comm-set to his ear and tried the sentry channel, 'Farg? That you? What in buggery do you want? I'm not letting you in, you know.'

He just got static in reply.

'Arse,' he told the console emphatically, 'Useless frigging cogboys.'

He got up and made his way out of the console room and down the corridor to the aired door.

 _BANG. BANG._

'Oh, shut up!' he grumbled as he reached it.

He banged on it once with his fist in reply and shouted through the thick door, 'WHAT DO YOU WANT?'

The voice that came back was higher than Farg's, it sounded panicked and indistinct. All he caught were the words, 'fall' and 'bleeding'. It sounded like that sissyboy Hared.

'Great,' he groaned, some tit had probably slid on the icy walkways and done himself an injury. He was half tempted to leave the stupid sods out there, but he took pity and punched numbers into the codepad by the door until it beeped at him and he gave the door a shove. In fairness to the cogboys who'd built it swung open as though it had been freshly oiled, probably because they knew they'd get it in the neck if some big shot was kept waiting in the cold because of a faulty door.

It wasn't Hared on the other side. It wasn't even Farg.

He had the brief impression of a dark figure in a dark full-face helmet pointing a gun at his face, then it dropped and with a quiet _phut_ like someone clearing their throat he felt a searing pain in his leg.

He desperately tried to pull the door back towards him, but gloved hands were already grabbing hold of it and his leg gave way, toppling him onto the floor with a cry of shock and pain. He scrabbled desperately for his gun, a small part of his mind already knowing it was still propped against the auspex console down the corridor.

The door was pulled fully open and the figure stepped inside, revealing more behind it.

Were the Imperials already here?

The figure pulled off the bulky helmet, revealing a young woman with a heart-shaped face, appealing light brown hair and a sinister-looking augmetic eye. Who were these people?

He scrabbled backwards, grimacing as his leg oozed and smeared blood across the floor.

She just pointed the pistol at him and said, 'Don't bother, you're the only one up here and you won't make it another metre before I splash your brains across the floor.'

He stopped.

'On the other hand, if you cooperate, Ynesa here will bandage you up and take care of that for you.'

The figure behind the brunette took off its helmet to reveal another woman, this one with red-streaked blonde hair, cut short and a stern expression centring around another augmetic eye. This woman however had a medi-pack attached to her waist.

'I-' he began and with another _phut_ and a ping a bullet ricocheted off the floor by his arm and bounced away down the corridor.

'Okay, okay!' he held up his right arm in surrender, 'I'll cooperate.'

The brunette smiled, 'Wonderful,' she told him.

* * *

'Come in Geyr, this is Ravine, over.'

Vox-Chief Vanderlein suddenly grinned and said, 'Banzi, get the Colonel,' before responding.

'Ravine, this Geyr, requesting sit-rep, over.'

The tension aboard the Absolom had been growing over the last two hours and been thick enough to cut with a knife, now it was already visibly easing. Either the mission was go or any minute PDF fighters were going to swarm up out of the atmosphere and tear the _Absolom_ apart wit the regiment inside. Nic Vanderlein didn't need the rest of Kasbek's sit-rep to know they had gained entry to Spiretop Station and most likely had it under control. They wouldn't have been able to access a comm-link with a strong enough broadcasting range otherwise.

'Ravine sit-rep follows: Objay One, repeat, One, is secure. Copy? Over.'

Vanderlein's grin widened and repeated, 'Objay One secure, stand by, Ravine. Over.'

'Ravine standing by, out.'

He sat back and let his fists pump at the air for a moment in celebration. The whole regiment knew what the girls from 1st Platoon had been asked to do and they had pulled it off, Spiretop Station was under Imperial control and the secessionists didn't know any better.

He passed the message on to Absolom's comms officer to send back to the Imperial Fleet. The fleet would have to get its arse in gear now if they were going to exploit the gap the Tantalids were going make in the Hive defences.

Colonel Atreus and Major Ventran appeared at the door, 'What's the word, Lein?' the Colonel asked.

'We're on, Sir, the girls have control of the station.'

Both officers did their best to suppress their relief but it must have shown through, 'Very good, Vanderlein, send my regards and let them know Arocar is en route.'

'Aye, sir.'

Vanderlein turned back to the vix-set, still grinning happily and initiated the link.


	7. The Creature

**The Creature**

* * *

Today's vehicle of choice was an Aquila Lander and a fairly battered one at that. Mogg had seen worse, mostly in junkyards, but this was to be the workhorse of the day apparently. He wasn't about to let his boys and girls know what he thought of the machine though, he turned to his squad, 'Right, ladies-'

'I resent that, Sarge,' came his Corporal's reply.

He grinned, 'Noted, Corporal. Now, _ladies_ , we've got a job to do and the Captain has picked us out cause we're the bloody best to do it, so I suggest you look lively and hop aboard our wonderful transport sharpish. We don't want to keep the Captain waiting.'

Trooper Nove eyed the "wonderful transport", 'Is that thing safe, Sarge? It looks like the back end of- oof!'

Trooper Konal had not so subtly kicked the back of his knee, making him abruptly choose between suddenly kneeling and falling face-first onto the deck plating. She smiled concernedly at her squad-mate, eyes wide, 'Scared of the ickle ship are we?' she asked in her best baby-voice.

He stood back up, glaring, 'Not bloody likely,' he hefted the meltagun he was carrying onto one shoulder and joined the general bustle to climb aboard and get strapped in.

Sergeant Mogg watched as his squad went about their business, Corporal Jeble at his shoulder.

'Nove's got a point, Sarge,' she whispered, 'It's hardly top-notch.'

'That's the point,' he hissed back, 'We get spotted and questioned, we're just a shitty lander from the smuggler ship in orbit delivering contraband to the punters on punishment detail at Spiretop. The longer we can keep the story up, the better chance we have of getting this done.'

Jeble pursed her lips, it was something of sight to see. Then she nodded to the extra seat that had been fitted behind the cockpit, 'Who's the extra man? Cap's with us and Gavel, who's that for? Not the Colonel, surely?'

Distaste crept across Sergeant Mogg's face, 'No. Get yourself strapped, I don't even want to mention that name.'

Her eyes widened suddenly, 'Oh…'

Having Captain Arocar along in the same transport was something of an honour, having Commissar Gavelen along was something they would just have to bear with good grace, but having… him in the same enclosed space… it made her skin want to crawl off. It explained why the Commissar was coming.

She noticed Mogg's fists were clenched hard enough for his knuckles to be white; he didn't like the thought any more than she did. She stepped past the buckled in troopers and found her own seat, sitting down and clasping up the restraints. Atmosphere crossing was always a bumpy ride, even more so in an "ickle ship" as Konal had pointed out, she didn't want to be stuck in what was a glorified metal box with one of _them_ if things started to go wrong.

* * *

Stratos Arocar, Captain of the 2nd Company of the Tantalid Primigenia, was a traditionalist. He believed in practicalities, in things he could see and do with his eyes and his hands, he wasn't a man to ask others to do what he would not do himself. He was one of those rare officers who would purposefully lead the fight from where it was thickest and didn't suffer cowardice or fools. A lot of people said he would have made the Commissariat proud, had they been able to get their hands on him early enough, but for Arocar the call had come late. He was already thirty-six when the regiment had been Founded and had instead pushed through the officer training program with dedicated zeal.

He had been a tunnel-clearer in the mining depths of the Crucible back on Tantalus, one whose job it was to lead a team of men into the dark chambers below the hive when the miners broke into animal or non-sanctioned tunnels. There, in the cold darkness, they would do battle with gangers, smugglers, ambull and other tunnelling creatures, often with brutal and bloody consequence. Darkness didn't bother him, cold didn't either, nor las and bullets flying past his face. But the mere thought of those wretched crea-

He stilled his thoughts and the Commissar came into view, hand firmly gripping the shock maul at his waist, the other resting on the butt of his laspistol.

'Commissar,' he said by way of greeting, keeping his face purposefully impassive.

As it went, he didn't mind the Commissar, they shared broadly similar ideals and often dined together when not in the mess halls. It was the creature that the Commissar accompanied that he despised, the Regiment's _sanctioned psyker_.

Oh, it looked like a man, it talked like a man and most of the time it acted like a man. But Vernal Swythe was not a man, not in Stratos Arocar's book, he was _daemon_ waiting to tear into reality and inflict the horrors of the Warp upon them all.

His hand went reflexively to the razor-edged kukri in his belt and the psyker saw it.

'Come now, Captain, we've known each other long enough, haven't we?' he said, his voice clear and smooth, like silk, even through the muffling metal plate that enclosed his nose and jaw. His face could only been seen from the top of his sculpted cheekbones upwards and Stratos could guess that he would have been a well proportioned individual if he hadn't been a threat to Imperial sanctity. His eyes were light and smiling, his eyebrows nothing less than well-groomed and his hair immaculate, but that metal plate- it was dull and splotched with rust. It betrayed his true nature.

This wasn't to say that Stratos Arocar was unwilling to tolerate the thing's presence, he would just never be comfortable around it the way a few of the troopers were. Whereas they had seen it unleash psychic fury on a battlefield and the lives that had been saved, he saw the potential for the same fury to be unleashed on them.

'Swythe,' he said, voice carefully measured.

There was loathsome grin beneath that metal plate, he hoped, the alternative was too horrific to contemplate.

'Let us proceed, Captain,' Commissar Gavelen said in the slight pause that followed, 'I'll let you lead the way, needs must I keep an eye on our charge.'

Swythe's eyes twinkled in response and Arocar turned his back to him, feeling the itch between his shoulder blades begin as he did so. His men would be leading the assault on Vrakenberg Hive and this psyker was join them, he could not ask them to go if he would not, so his place aboard the Lander was set.

He led the Commissar and his charge forth to meet Sergeant Mogg's mob.

* * *

The reaction was mixed; Shadbolt made the sign of the Aquila, Rase tugged nervously at his earlobe and Konal actually smiled. Mogg himself steadfastly ignored the psyker, instead saluting his Captain and the Commissar.

'Strapped and ready to run, Sir, when you are.'

'Well done, Sergeant, word is the Station is secure, we're on our way.'

'Aye, Sir.'

The three newcomers strapped in, the Commissar only after he had double-checked Swythe's were secure. Corporal Jeble looked a little pale, but everyone knew she hated flying. Shadbolt's eyes kept flicking nervously from his knees to the psyker and back again.

Then the engine started, the ramp lifted to a close and they all tugged their straps a little tighter as the heavy vibrations of ship-to-surface travel began.

* * *

'Intercept Transmission reads:

 _Ravine, this is Geyr, Deeps en route, eyes up. Out._

Transmission ends.'

'And you believe this is some kind of relief force?'

'Possibly, Sirrah.'

'Your reasons being?'

'The frequency, Sirrah, it was flagged under those reserved for Guard combat units.'

The hollowed-out eyes above the vast aquiline nose bored into the aide's reddening features, 'And could it not, just possibly, also be Gangers? An ex-Guard Faction, here in the Hive, perpetrating a raid on a fellow gang. Even as exalted as we are here, I am not blind to what goes on in the depths of this settlement.'

The aide hung his head, 'Yes, Sirrah, I thought it best that you be kept informed, Sirrah.'

'No matter, you have done well, keep scanning the frequencies and inform Hive Arbites to be on the lookout for gang-activity.'

'Yes, Sirrah.'

The aide withdrew, leaving the robed figure seated alone on the vast pedestal before the State Throne of Vracksvald.

'The Imperials come,' he said aloud to the apparent emptiness of the room, 'as you predicted.'

Something glittered in the shadows of the gilded chair behind him, but he didn't move his gaze from the vast window that overlooked the Hive and the Vracksvald Plains beyond, it was a glorious sight, darkness lit with a million miniature candle-like bulbs.

A voice replied from the shadows, silky smooth and soft, speaking of felinity and wonderful grace, 'They must, Sirrah, they must.'

'And preparations are… in place?'

For the first time his voice faltered, as if suddenly unsure.

'Of course, Sirrah,' the voice whispered, and then it began to sing.


	8. Arrival

**Arrival**

* * *

Standard brief was that 1st and/or 3rd Company would move in and set up a perimeter. They consisted mainly of the Peak-dwellers, those of the Tantalids who spent their lives out in the fastness of the mountains and ravines, hunting geyr-wyrms and the other strange creatures dwelling in the rocky walls of home. 2nd and 4th Company would move in after them and bolster the perimeter with their heavier equipment.

Tonight this wasn't going to be the case; the brief was speed and surprise. Where speed was normally 1st Company's strength, normally over rough terrain many other regiments would consider impassable, this mission was movement through the Hive. It wasn't mining tunnels, but it was a lot closer to the environs of the Deep-dwellers of Arocar's 2nd Company than it was the open skies fondly remembered by 1st.

 _And thank the Emperor_ , thought Lieutenant Kasbek. Give her a decent mountain range any day, a few verticals and ravines to negotiate and leave the cramped hallways to those who enjoyed that kind of thing. As far as she was considered, a corridor was just a shooting gallery waiting to happen and ceilings made her palms itch, she was a sky-child, born in the open air and it was her home.

Spiretop Station wasn't so bad, true it was cold and the ceilings were low hung, but the enemy had only one entrance; the cargo elevator and Kay's squad had that covered until reinforcements arrived. Albeit only with five lasguns they'd taken off the sentries, but it was better than the pistols they were carrying.

Currently the shaft was just a wide dark hole in the centre of the elevator docking area, it wouldn't be coming up until the next shift arrived. And then they'd have plenty of advance warning and more guns. That wasn't her concern.

Right now her concern was making sure the remaining living sentry had been telling the truth and that Captain Arocar and his squad weren't going to get shot out of the sky. So far everything was just breezy; Lork was at the comms-console, quietly advising the Arocar's pilot of weather conditions and slipping a late-arrival brief into the Hive's airspace network. They'd had a tech-priest make up a shifting pattern brief that would alter the arrival time sequentially so they could keep ferrying in troops. If the Lander was noticed it could submit its own corresponding brief, it would take an alert watcher to keep track of the comings and goings from Spiretop and right now they should be more caught up in preparations for the siege that they must know was coming.

That was the plan anyway and for now it was working.

All clear. Not so much as the suggestion of a question to their presence above the Hive.

* * *

The Lander swept in, turned and thudded gently onto the pad outside Spiretop Station. Sergeant Mentolat watched the ramp come down and there was the doughty Captain Arocar, stern and uncompromising, even in the face of a wind sweeping ice into his eyes. He marched down the ramp and one of the girls inside swung open the pad door.

He disappeared inwards, presumably to find Kasbek while the Lander disgorged the rest of its occupants onto the icy rockcrete. Mogg's mob made their appearance, and concealed at the back was an instantly recognisable robed figure; Vernal Swythe, regimental sanctioned psyker.

She still couldn't understand the swings of fate that brought Swythe back to his people. She had been a young girl when the Black Ships and their masters had descended on Crucible, and Swythe had been a rising politico, a charismatic and sincere young man. He practically had his own cult of fanatical followers as he called for an end to the corruption rife amongst Tantalus' Ecclesiarchy, a reduction in the heavy tithes sent away to the Imperium and calls for a larger Arbites presence to control mid-Hive gangers; the man had been tipped as a future Planetary Governor.

Then the Black Ships came. She had watched the broadcasts from her parents' mountain refuge; the riots, the running street battles, the black-armoured Tempestus Scions dragging the suspect and the named out of habs. The crying. The curses. The cages.

Then Vernal Swythe had been named and the street battles very nearly turned into civil war. She had watched the news picts as an entire district went up in flames; his followers had tried to halt the Scions' advance and paid the ultimate price. Then Swythe himself had come walking out of the smoke and fire, untouched, asking for peace and an end to the violence.

She remembered that vividly; it had been mid-afternoon and her parents had been whispering worriedly to each other as they watched, Giek, her biturong, had been scratching at the door, disturbed by the crackling pict-noises. Then the Scions had stepped in with charged shock-mauls and Swythe was taken away, battered and bloody, never to be seen again.

It had been more than a decade and half ago, yet here he was.

She smiled despite the cold, maybe it was the Emperor's Will.

Commissar Gavelen was right behind him of course, shock-maul humming, holster open and whip tucked in the small of his back. As far as she was considered, the whip was overdoing it. Gavelen had a vicious reputation and they didn't need reminding, nor did a whip have a place on a battlefield, certainly not one like this.

Her mood turned abruptly sour and she turned away, despite Corporal Jeble's friendly wave.

* * *

Yoren heard the engine roar and the clang of ramp dropping long before he saw any of the new arrivals. The woman with the medi-pack had bandaged up his thigh and laughed at him when he asked if they were Sororitas. Then they moved him to the storeroom and placed a guard in the open doorway, this one had refused to talk to him and kept her helmet on. He could tell it was she because the uni-sex suit she had on was bulging in the right places. He gave up trying to asking questions when she came over and kicked him in his uninjured leg, so instead he shut his mouth and tried to ignore the pain.

Now though there were more of them. A stern-looking bastard had peered round the door at him then disappeared and he had heard the word 'taint' in the discussion that followed. He wasn't quite sure what they meant, but it didn't sound good, he also heard the word 'execution' and prayed it wasn't him they were talking about.

Then the guard had stepped aside and moved out of view.

He caught sight of another of the new arrivals and his blood ran cold. It was a man, he could tell from the build and what he could see of his face. It was the bit he couldn't see that scared him; a dull, rust-spotted metal plate etched to look like a jaw devoid of flesh covered his face from the cheekbones down. That was all he really noticed, that and the eyes, those eyes scared the hell out of him. It was like staring into… staring into… A small part of him wondered why he wore the metal plate on his face.

The man stepped fully into the room and he tried to shuffle away, but his leg hurt and he couldn't move much further, he was propped up in the corner as it was.

'Oh, don't worry,' the man said amiably, his voice like silk despite that metal plate, 'I would just like to ask a few questions.'

That logical part of Yoren's brain asked how the man was able to talk without being able to move his jaw. He wondered what was underneath, a vox-caster? Like a tech-priest he had once seen. Somehow he doubted it.

The man took a step forward and crouched down on his haunches. Someone shut the door behind him, leaving them alone in the small room. A hand went up the metal plate and suddenly Yoren really, _really_ did not want to see what was underneath.

The hand took hold of it and gently tugged, frost abruptly glazed over the floor between them, the metal plate came away and Yoren began to scream.

* * *

The screaming started and went on and on and on. Then, abruptly, it was over.

The door opened and Swythe appeared, looking none too impressed that Commissar Gavelen had his lapspistol out and trained on the doorway.

'Commissar,' he said reprovingly, a smile in his voice underneath that metal plate, 'anyone would think you didn't trust me!'

'Well?' growled Gavelen, not moving an inch.

'Oh? He told everything I needed to know.'

'And?' Gavelen growled.

Swythe rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, 'And I still faithfully serve the Emperor.'

Gavelen glared, but lowered the pistol.

Swythe twitched.

The pistol shot back up.

Swythe chuckled, 'Just testing, Latimer, just testing.'

The Commissar's hand reached behind his back for his whip, but a voice stopped him, 'Now is not the time, Commissar, we have a mission to-'

Captain Arocar was briefly drowned out by the sound of the Lander taking off and heading back to the _Absolom_ for a new payload.

'So let's get to it,' he finished.

* * *

Trooper Lork didn't really want to look inside the storeroom after Swythe came out, but she was supposed be guarding the prisoner and no one had told her otherwise, so she crossed the corridor apprehensively and looked through the doorway.

The man was curled up in the far corner, shaking in a puddle of his own urine. He must have heard her boots on the floor, because he suddenly looked over at her, eyes wide with fear. But they weren't his eyes and he wasn't really looking, he was staring about wildly as trying to figure out where the noise had come from. He was staring about wildly because his eyes had filmed over with the milky whiteness of blinding cataracts.

He whimpered and curled into a tighter ball, hiding his face, uncaring of the liquid soaking through his fatigues.

Lork turned away, there wasn't much left to guard. She'd ask the Commissar to dispense the Emperor's Mercy.


	9. Execution

**Execution**

* * *

Long ranged scans showed the Imperial Fleet had begun to advance, not that the Naval Officers aboard the _Absolom_ needed to be told. It was obvious from the emptying zone around Vrackenberg Hive as traffic melted away.

The Absolom itself had been forced to drift South, closer to the remaining traffic cloud over Contentia Hive in order to maintain its unobtrusive cover as a minor smuggler. It was drift South or stick out like a sore thumb as being the sole occupant of the orbital zone above Vrackensberg; even the freighter platforms that usually remained geo-locked had been hitched to mule-esque shipping tugs and hauled out of the way of the incoming fleet; the merchant guilds weren't about to lose valuable equipment over a solitary Hive War.

The strange thing was that air-traffic around Vrakensberg Hive itself didn't appear to have changed in anyway; the usual buzz and bustle of minor freighters and civilian traffic continued about the Hive and its outlying districts, almost as if it was unaware of the encroaching fleet high above. Any other Hive should have dropped into lockdown and standstill by now, possibly with streams of refugee traffic moving away, but Vrackensberg just continued life as though it was blissfully unaware or ignorant of the situation. It was disconcerting.

* * *

In the Officers' quarters Captain Jerod Flasch was champing at the bit to get moving.

A mission like this was something a man like Flasch prayed for; drastic measures and daredevil risks were a Peak-dwelling Tantalid's meat and drink. Foot-slogging could be left to the likes of Arocar and his slag-hackers, Flasch and his lads would get the job done properly and with the minimum of fuss, no need for explosions and destroying Imperial property when a knife to the throat of the right bastard would get same results.

The girls of 1st Platoon had already proved their worth and Arocar had his head-start, but while Arocar's mob were tunnel rubbing, 2nd Platoon would be getting the job done.

Lieutenant Katlan appeared at his door with a twisted smile, 'Signal is go, Cap.'

He drank in the sight; the girls of 1st Platoon were somewhat marred by the augmetic eyes they adopted, but Ysobel Katlan was all good old-fashioned Tantalid woman with legs that went all the way to top. That said, she could be right bitch when riled and there was more than one reason she was his 1st Lieutenant.

He unfolded from his chair to his feet and reached for his webbing, 'Round up the boys then, Lieutenant,' he told her.

* * *

Mogg's squad hadn't just brought their own equipment with them, they had packs of demo charges and rope and enough ammo crates to start a small war. They were already turning the elevator dock into a kill zone.

But they needed somewhere to stack the ammo crates and a shooting gallery is never a good place for massed live ammunition, not if it happens to start cooking off. That storeroom seemed pretty handy.

'Oi, Klara, what's the deal with the stiff in there?' Nove asked as he stacked crates in the corridor, his melta propped against the wall.

'Prisoner for interrogation, I need to ask the Commissar-'

'Can you shift him? We need the staging space and this place is gonna fill up quick.'

'I-'

Commissar Gavelen appeared in the doorway to the console room, 'Someone asking for me?' he asked acerbically.

Klara Lork snapped to attention, naturally nervous in the presence of a stormcoat and peaked cap, 'Question about the prisoner, Sir. Nove is requesting the space.'

Gavelen's gaze moved to Nove, who shrugged at him, then he nodded and emerged completely from the doorway, 'Lork, you're dismissed, report to Echan for detailing.'

She saluted, 'Yes, Sir,' before moving away down the corridor to the elevator dock, but paused and looked back.

Gavelen disappeared into the storeroom and reappeared a few moments later, dragging the stumbling, whimpering prisoner by the collar of his fatigues. He dragged the man down the corridor, narrowly avoiding Nove's pile of crates and out towards the landing pad door. Before they both disappeared through it, Klara saw the Commissar unhook the shock maul from his belt and heard the shrill whine as it powered up. They disappeared through the outer door.

 _Ziiiiiii-Thunk._

Commissar Gavelen stepped back through the door without the prisoner and hooked the shock maul back onto his belt, 'Room's all yours,' he said to Nove, then turned to the wide eyed Trooper Lork, 'Thought I gave you an order, soldier?'

'Yes, Sir,' she managed and hurried towards the docking area.

* * *

As Mogg's squad unloaded equipment and set up, Captain Arocar compared the information on his data-slate to what he was seeing with his own eyes. It lined up nicely. The question was; would it continue to do so? Something made him doubt that.

Someone clever enough to plan a coup of a system's capital Hive would know there was going to be a response and that it would not be friendly, in fact that it would carried out with extreme prejudice. Part of him wondered why specialists hadn't been called in, surely a missing team of Throne Agents warranted-

He cut of that line of thinking, conjecture wasn't helpful and about as useful as a rat's arse to him right now. He gazed down the dark elevator shaft and compared it to the information available. The data-slate said seven hundred feet from top to bottom, the actual carriage was driven by magnetics embedded in the walls.

A power outage would cause the elevator to fail, meaning no visitors from below, but it would also trap them in the tiny mountaintop station and possibly draw attention to them. That was a no go.

Abseiling the shaft was what had been suggested. No alerts to below, no unexpected movement and no power sources involved, just a gas-gun for injected hard points into the shaft wall. Then it would be drop and go.

The length of the shaft couldn't have changed; it wasn't something that happened over night and Swythe had just reported no recent structural changes below. But abseiling would leave marks and evidence on the walls, and the ropes would need to be stashed somewhere.

He checked his chrono. Time was ticking. And that was the answer. Time.

'Sergeant Mogg, change of plan, get those barricades shifted.'

* * *

The elevator rose with five occupants, none of whom were feeling particularly pleased with their assigned duties. Four of them were more pissed off than the fifth about this; at least he got to stay inside.

They were still arguing about who had been assigned where when the bullets hit.

Only one of them was paying enough attention to his surroundings to see what hit them and his rising gun was blocked as a companion's brain matter sprayed across his face and the falling body stumbled into him. He managed to fire a single shot that buried itself in the elevator flooring before his brain matter mixed with that of his colleague's.

'I'm calling it now,' Konal's voice rang out in the aftermath, 'I'm not taking _that_ guy's.'

There was sudden scramble to claim a body and its uniform. Shadbolt ended up the unlucky one.

'Seriously?' he asked, 'Sarge? Please!'

The body in question had been standing a little behind the others and, as such, had been subjected to the most… spray, as it were. Shadbolt, normally a steadfast trooper, was looking more than a little green around the gills at the prospect of intentionally wearing someone else's bodily fluids.

Sergeant Mogg grinned good-naturedly at the unfortunate Trooper, 'Thankfully, boyo, the good ladies of 1st Platoon have a body to spare; you'll have to owe Riyt a drink though, it cost her a broken leg. That's if you don't mind a little blood on the collar.'

Shadbolt didn't look overly sure, but anything had to be better than the mess at his feet, right? He hurried away to find Riyt.

Several minutes later the elevator made its return trip and it was by no means empty.

* * *

Most platoons in 1st Company had disproportionately few women in them compared to others, mainly due to those being shifted into the all female 1st Platoon as it suffered losses. Sall Magna's squad was no exception; ten men, tall, long-limbed, wiry and raring to go. What the Deepers referred to as flap-bat crazy and the Peakmen thought of as heroic.

Captain Jerod Flasch looked at them and smiled, 'Boys…' he said loudly, raising his arms to get their attention, 'Boys! What we will do here today isn't just about the mission! We are the spearhead of the entire Imperial Army! How does that make you feel?'

He got a shout of appreciation. Bloodthirsty grins all round. Beirn was testing the blade of his kukri.

'You're not hunting jackanays any more, lads, no nest thieving today! We've got bigger nests to plunder! But you started small, boys, and you will _rise_! We are the tip of the Imperial blade, we are vengeance, we are _wrath_. And we will show these bastards what it means to turn their backs on the Emperor's Grace!'

Reminding them of their past always got them; most had been petty hunters and he had hand-picked them for it; men with ambition, a thirst, a need for more. They were good, the scavengers and poachers of the Daggerpeaks, they had just never had the chance to be better and now he was telling them that they could be great. 1st Company under Captain Flasch had had the highest attrition rates in the regiment during the first days of the Barrat Campaign, but as far as Jerod Flasch was concerned, it was a winnowing of the chaff. What he had left was survivors; the tough, the brutal, the cunning, the strong. And he would use them as a stepping plate to glory.

He swung his hand in a circle above his head and pointed at the open ramp of the Lander, 'Now saddle up!' he told them and led the way aboard.

He needed them fired up, Arocar had a head start after all, the bastard.


End file.
